


Underground

by buttered_onions



Series: Voltron: AU Fills [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Urban Fantasy, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: The City of Altea is unknown and frightening. That's not going to stop Hunk when the City takes Lance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> AU fills continue! I took a handful of prompt requests on tumblr for a milestone and am filling them slowly but surely. I post them on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) first and here several days later, so if you'd like them right as they come out tumblr is the place to be!
> 
> This request came from hawk-in-a-tree, who wanted an Urban Fantasy. It's the second in what I've termed the Fantasy Trio. Still unbeta'd; all mistakes gleefully mine. Enjoy!

**00\. The City of Altea is dangerous.**

Things…lurk, here. Hunk’s sure of it. Passerby rush past dark alleyways, never taking the shortcuts after dusk. The Mainlit streets are the busiest; the Backlits are barely even that, so named merely as a distinctive title and less because of any actual light. If there are things lurking down the Backlits, Hunk’s never seen them. He’s not sure he cares to.

The city’s a normal place, really. Hunk’s afraid of many things (small rodents; theft; phone calls), but if he doesn’t think about all the ways this could go wrong, the city of Altea’s not too bad. The biggest choice Hunk’s ever made, insofar as being adventurous is concerned, is moving to the city in the first place. There’s lots to be afraid of here, sure, but Lance is great at luring him out of their shared apartment, talking him through it, moving them along. It’s been long enough now that Hunk’s just barely starting to relax, here. It’s just a place to live. Just a place to go about their daily business, to get to school, to get to the next place they’re going. Nothing here is wrong. Nothing here is worth being afraid of.

Until the City takes Lance.

 

**01\. Lance starts seeing things on a Tuesday.**

Hunk’s never going to be able to forget. He and his roommate are walking back to the apartment when Lance gasps in horror and flat-out drops the bag of groceries, no warning, nothing but shock.

“Lance!” Hunk dives for the bag, missing it by inches. The eggs crack, bleeding yolks all over the sidewalk. “Lance, that was dinner!”

“Do you _see_ that?” Lance gasps.

Hunk looks up from where he’s crouching, trying to save the groceries from egg-yolk-doom. The Mainlit illumination came on just a little while ago, lighting up Altea’s streets as dusk finally falls. Folks peel around them on the busy sidewalk; he and Lance are an unexpected rock in the middle of a bustling river of rush-hour foot traffic. Everyone wants to get home before dark.

Hunk straightens up, slowly. Lance is staring towards one of the few empty businesses downtown, awnings barren, _for lease_ sign still in the window. The space is empty, like it always is. “See what?”

 _“That,”_ Lance hisses. His hand’s found Hunk’s sleeve, fingers gripping. “It has - its eyes are glowing, Hunk. Right there!”

Glowing eyes. Right. “Probably just a person in costume.”

“No,” Lance insists, shaking his head. “No, people aren’t _purple_ , Hunk, not like that. Do you really not see it? Look!”

Hunk does. There’s still nothing out of the ordinary. People still veer around them; nobody else has paused. No one else is looking. No one else is as shell-shocked as Lance, still gripping Hunk’s sleeve, wide-eyed and pale and honestly, earnestly terrified.

Lance, steady and calm who’s talked Hunk out of every single fear since Hunk moved here. Lance, utterly shaken and afraid at whatever it is he’s _seeing_.

“C’mon,” Hunk suggests, gently tugging Lance until his roommate stumbles along with him. “Let’s go home and sit down, okay?”

 

They leave the groceries. Lance doesn’t relax until they’re safe in their crappy apartment, door locked and chain slid neatly across the gap. Lance sits on the couch and doesn’t complain when Hunk drapes a blanket over him. He doesn’t let Hunk go out to buy more eggs.

“It was really there,” he insists. “You believe me, right?”

“I think the lack of sleep is catching up with you,” Hunk says, gently, and turns the TV on to mindless news instead.

 

It’s not the last time. Hunk rolls out of their shared room early the next morning; Lance’s bed is empty. Lance is in the living room, staring out the window behind the sheet that serves them as a curtain.

“It’s still there,” Lance says.

The brick wall opposite their apartment is as gross as ever. Their dingy balcony’s empty. So’s the sidewalk, the courtyard below.

“I’m not making it up,” Lance insists.

“Of course,” Hunk says, gently, and starts breakfast.

 

It just gets worse.

Lance is always checking over his shoulder; he pauses at every intersection, every hour. He’s jittery, anxious. Every time he calls out something Hunk _can’t see_ guilt and doubt twist in Hunk’s gut, alive like a horrible snake. Lance’s calm demeanor, his joking nature, his laugh and his insane ideas, all of those disappear out the window he stands in front of, unable to pull himself away. It’s like watching fire consume Lance slowly, burn all his confidence to shreds and leave him empty, a smoking shell. To Hunk, that’s more terrifying than whatever else Lance is seeing.

“It’s following me,” Lance says, when they finally go to get more eggs.

“It’s got a friend,” Lance hisses, when they turn the corner back to their apartment. “There’s two of them.”

“Hunk, it’s _looking at me,”_ Lance whispers, peering through the window when they’re back home and the door’s locked. “It knows we’re here. Hunk.”

“You’re okay,” Hunk says, gently, and wonders briefly what he’s even supposed to do.

 

“You don’t believe me,” Lance says, three mornings later at the window. It’s Friday. He hasn’t slept. Hunk’s exhausted.

Hunk joins Lance at the window. The street’s still empty. Carefully he bumps their shoulders together; carefully he draws breath. “Lance, if you’re still seeing whatever it is - ”

“I’m not making this up,” Lance says, sharp.

“I do believe you,” Hunk says, carefully, because the alternative’s not worth contemplating. “But I think maybe it’s time we see if there’s someone you can talk to about this besides me.”

 

Lance leaves a note.

 _I found someone,_ it says, his terrible handwriting loopy and abrupt against the back of their forgotten shopping list. _I’ll be back this afternoon. Don’t worry._

Like Hunk could do anything _but_ worry.

Especially when Lance does not come back.

 

**02\. Pidge answers immediately when Hunk knocks, and listens to every single word.**

“I don’t know what to do,” Hunk admits, wringing his hands around the second box of tissues. Pidge’s studio apartment is more of a mess than usual, which is saying something. She won’t stop pacing. She hasn’t, since Hunk told her the news.

“What did the police say?” she asks.

“That they’ll look, but there’s not much they can do in a city this size,” Hunk repeats, scowling. He’s called Lance’s family; he’s called every one of Lance’s friends; he’s even called Lance’s _professors_ hoping that Lance just crashed on a corner of campus and might still be there. Nothing. “I shouldn’t’ve let it go on this long. I should’ve taken him to the hospital the second he started seeing that _thing._ What kind of a friend am I?”

“Thing?” Pidge repeats.

“Thing,” Hunk confirms. He worries the box of tissues between his fingers. “He wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Did you believe him?” Pidge asks.

“Of course not,” Hunk scoffs. “Nobody just starts seeing giant purple bat-eared glowy-eyed things on the corner of Seventh and Main.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it rings hollow even to him.

“Was this on Tuesday?”

Hunk jerks his head up. Pidge isn’t pacing anymore. The light from the basement window reflects off her glasses. Hunk doesn’t remember her glasses being that big last week.

Ice runs through Hunk’s veins, trickling down his spine like fingers, gripping and chilled.

“Yes,” Hunk says, slowly.

“We need to talk to Keith,” Pidge says.

 

**03\. Keith’s apartment is closer to the Backlits than Hunk’s really comfortable with.**

“No,” Keith says flatly. He’s standing in the doorway; Hunk and Pidge are on the street.

Hunk hasn’t seen Keith in months, a fact he’s kind of ashamed of. They used to be something almost like friends, before Shiro went missing and Keith quietly but definitely disappeared from their lives. Every beat of Keith’s withdrawal is as clear as a painted stroke on canvas; every time Hunk knocked and Keith didn’t answer; every call Lance made that Keith ignored; every text message read but not returned. The spiral’s understandable, maybe, except that Pidge lost someone too and she didn’t cut Hunk and Lance out of her life just because her brother vanished at the same time as Shiro. Hunk doesn’t blame Keith, really, but he also doesn’t understand him.

“Keith, quit being stupid,” Pidge snaps, temper frayed and cracking.

“Pidge, I don’t think this is helping,” Hunk says. “Keith clearly doesn’t want to let us in - ”

“So we’re gonna talk about this on the street, huh?” Pidge demands. Keith’s arms are crossed; Pidge mirrors his posture, glaring. So much unspoken tension ripples in the air between them that Hunk could practically cut it with a knife.

A car honks in the street behind them. Hunk turns reflexively, but the vehicle’s moving on. No one is there.

“You’re in over your head,” Keith says.

“Like you’re not,” Pidge retorts. “Let us in. Hunk’s not going to tell anyone.”

“Yeah, ‘cause if I can keep _glowing-eye-man_ a secret clearly I’m not telling anyone anything,” Hunk scoffs, and then, “Wait. Tell anyone what? I thought this was about Lance.”

Keith hesitates a second too long.

“Keith?” Hunk breathes. Uncertainty tickles at his throat.

“You’d better come in,” Keith says, at last, and steps aside so they can.

 

**04\. The only thing more surprising than Shiro sitting at Keith’s kitchen table is exactly how bad Shiro looks.**

“They’ve taken Lance _Beneath,”_ Shiro says, grimly. “I’m sure of it.”

“Beneath?” Hunk asks, bewildered. “They took Lance _Beneath_ what?”

“Altea,” Shiro says. Keith’s pouring tea in chipped and mismatched cups; Shiro has his but doesn’t drink it, the fingers of his left hand wrapped loosely around the mug. His right arm’s tucked beneath the table where Hunk can’t see it - which is good, because Hunk definitely can’t stop staring. There’s so many questions he wants to ask. How’d Shiro get that scar? How did he lose the arm and gain the - gain _that?_ Why is he so pale, so exhausted, like a good push might break him - and yet so tense and guarded at the same time?

Shiro’s changed so much. It’s frightening. Fear burns in Hunk’s chest, tightens at his throat.

Is that what’s going to happen to Lance?

“They probably took Lance because he could see them,” Shiro’s continuing. Hunk barely hears him, as if through a distant cloud or a haze. “They wouldn’t like that.”

“They took him to silence him,” Pidge whispers, horrified.

Hunk gapes. This is - this is _surreal._ “No. No, this - this doesn’t make _sense_. What are we talking about here? Aliens? Vampires? Subterranean golems? None of that exists!”

“They do,” Shiro says, tightly. “But this species you’re describing is called the Galra.”

“The species,” Hunk breathes. He sits down, heavily.

Shiro nods, a jerk of his chin. He’s so pale beneath his scar. “I - this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have come back.”

“What?” Keith snaps, setting the teapot down so hard it rattles all the mugs. Pidge jumps. “How can you say that?”

“Because if my coming back left the Door open then it’s my fault Lance is gone,” Shiro retorts, immediate and upset.

“The Door?” Pidge gasps, horrified.

“You don’t _know_ that,” Keith tries. His unique brand of comfort, desperate. Shiro just shakes his head.

“I do, though,” Shiro says. His metal arm twitches, a pulse of his bicep; Hunk forces himself to stop staring. “I don’t remember much, but I remember - I made a deal. I must have.”

“When was that?” Hunk asks.

Shiro meets his eyes across the table.

“Tuesday,” Shiro says.

 

**05\. Of course they’re going _Beneath_ to save Lance, but they aren’t going unarmed.**

“Bullets,” Pidge says, handing Hunk a gun. It’s sophisticated, wide-barreled, more a cannon than anything else. “Silver. Wooden. Copper. Lead. The shiny ones are a surprise, don’t use them unless you absolutely have to. You can switch between them with this lever here. Got it?”

“You don’t really think we’ll need this, do you?” Hunk asks. There’s a strap; he slings it on. The weight of the weapon against his back is comforting.

“I think we’ll face whatever’s out on the streets, a thousand times worse,” Pidge says bluntly. She checks her own weapon, short sparks of electricity jolting from the handle of something she clips to her belt before Hunk can get a good luck.

“Pidge,” Hunk says, “You don’t have to come along. “

“Don’t be stupid,” Pidge says curtly.

“I mean it,” Hunk insists. “Shiro thinks whatever took Lance went back down with him. You’d be much safer up here.”

In response Pidge reaches up and tugs her glasses off her face, tapping her index finger on the frames. She holds them out to Hunk. “Here.”

“I’m not taking those with me,” Hunk says.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Just _look_ , will you? Out the window, if you can.”

The lenses are delicate in her wire frames. Hunk pulls back the curtain and pushes the lenses up to his eyes.

Monsters walk the streets below Pidge’s Mainlit apartment. Tall ones, short ones, alien creatures with six limbs, or wings, or horns - there’s none of the purple _Galra_ Lance had described in such panic, but these monsters are _abundant_ and _Hunk can see them._ The human populace ignore them completely. No one looks up to see the gargoyles perching on rooftops; no one glances down at the tentacles coming from the sewer lids; no one sees the glowing eyes lurking down the alleys leading to the Backlits -

Hunk reels in alarm, flailing back from the window. _“What?!”_

“That’s why I’m coming,” Pidge says, tightly. Hunk numbly drops her glasses into her outstretched hand; Pidge props her lenses back on her face, their green glow fading when she taps at the frames. “We gotta go in there, find Lance, find - find _everyone_. We go in, we find them, and we _close that Door._ Just try and convince me otherwise.”

“Pidge,” Hunk tries, one last time, “This is - this is probably _really dangerous_.”

“My brother’s down there,” Pidge says, flatly. “You’re going for Lance; Keith’s going for Shiro; I’m going for my brother. I’m not leaving my brother down there a second longer than I have to. _You_ stay, if you want. I’m going.”

 

**+1. Coran, the Unintended Warden of The Second Door in the Backlits**

The Door Shiro finally leads them to well after dusk is nondescript, a panel of rotting bricks so far in the Backlits Hunk’s not sure the sun even shines here. It opens when Shiro knocks with his metal hand, the strange arm glowing a fluorescent purple as he makes contact with the ancient surface.

The bricks peel back one by one, rotting away. What awaits them on the other side is not a gaping hole of darkness but a - a person?

“Shiro,” the figure demands, as soon as the opening is wide enough. “What are you doing here?”

“Coran, I’m sorry, but this is the only other Door I know about,” Shiro begins.

Coran shakes his head, frowning. The space behind him is pitch black; Hunk can’t make anything out. “You weren’t supposed to come back. It’s worse down there than when you left, Shiro. This isn’t wise at all.”

“I know,” Shiro says. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Coran regards him seriously, a strange expression over the garish orange of his mustache. Hunk can’t find the energy to be amused. “Sendak made a deal with you. You know the Rules as well as I do. They’re unshakeable.”

Shiro shrugs. “Is it a deal if I don’t remember it?”

“Who’s Sendak?” Hunk whispers, to Pidge.

“No idea,” Pidge whispers back.

“You’ll see,” Keith says. His grip tightens on the honest-to-god sword slung low at his hip.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shiro’s saying, to Coran. “Whatever the trade is this time, I’ll pay it. My friends are down there. I can’t leave them.”

“I’ll pay it,” Hunk insists, speaking up. If there’s a deal to be made - how bad could it be? An arm or a leg like Shiro’s isn’t too much to pay if it means Lance’s freedom.

“We’ll all pay it,” Pidge says. Her eyes are determined beneath the green glint of her glasses.

Keith just nods, bumping his shoulder into Shiro’s. Coran looks past Shiro for the first time, squinting at the rest of the group. “Who are they?”

“Friends,” Shiro says, tightly. “Are you going to let us in, or not?”

 

**+2. Coran, reluctantly, does.**

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please consider leaving me a comment! Comments make my day and I'm always thrilled to hear from you. Or feel free to come say hello on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com)! I don't bite. Much. :) Come yell.
> 
> (originally posted [here](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/154701301738/can-i-request-urban-fantasy-au))


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